The universe clearly had a sick sense of humor.
If Elara thought she could let Damien's jealous "you're mine" comment fade into the background of office gossip, fate laughed in her face. Two days later, she was seated beside him on a private jet, flying toward a high-stakes conference in Chicago.
One hotel. One suite. One dangerously smug billionaire boss.
She buried herself in her tablet, pretending to review the itinerary. Anything to avoid the way his cologne curled into her lungs, or how the low rumble of his voice when he called the flight attendant "thank you" sent shivers straight to her toes.
"Relax," Damien murmured, sipping his bourbon as though nothing had happened. "You look like you're preparing for war."
She snapped her gaze up. "That's because I am. With you."
He smirked, infuriatingly calm. "Still upset about the other night?"
"Upset?" Her voice rose a fraction. "Damien, you nearly growled at a client like a jealous—"
"Man," he cut in smoothly. "Like a man who knows what he wants."
Her cheeks burned. "You don't get to want me."
The silence that followed was thick, electric. His gaze slid down her, slow and deliberate, before returning to her face. "Tell me that again," he said softly.
She pressed her lips together and turned back to her screen. No way. She wasn't giving him the satisfaction.
---
The conference went smoothly—on paper. Elara kept notes, managed calls, made sure Damien was where he needed to be. But under the surface, everything was a tug-of-war.
Every time he leaned close to whisper in her ear, she felt her resolve crumble. Every time his hand brushed hers, her pulse betrayed her. And when Adrian Cole—again—made a point of cornering her at the hotel bar, Damien materialized within seconds, radiating territorial fury.
By the time they returned to their suite, Elara was vibrating with tension.
She dropped her bag on the bed. "You can't keep doing that!"
Damien loosened his tie, unbothered. "Doing what?"
"Hovering. Glowering. Acting like some… some guard dog whenever another man talks to me!"
He stepped closer, his gaze burning into hers. "Would you rather I didn't care?"
"Yes!" she blurted. Then, softer, "No. I don't know."
He tilted his head, studying her like she was the only puzzle worth solving. "You do know. You just don't want to admit it."
Her chest rose and fell too quickly. "Admit what?"
"That you like it." His voice dropped, husky and dangerous. "That you like me losing control over you."
Her pulse stuttered. "Damien—"
He closed the space between them, his hand braced on the wall beside her. "Say the word, Elara, and I'll stop. But if you don't…" His eyes darkened. "Then tonight, there will be no pretending."
The air between them crackled. She should have said stop. She should have pushed him away.
Instead, her silence betrayed her.
Damien's lips brushed her ear. "That's what I thought."